


Nomenclature

by Confabulatrix



Series: Apocalypse Vocabulary [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Absurdism, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress, Pre-Canon, Pseudoscience, actual human Stacker Pentecost, actual psychology, actual science, all the gallows humor, deconstruction of gendered language, giant troll Tamsin Sevier, inappropriate use of pop culture, literal Jaegerbombs, self-aware science fictional universe, texting in class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Confabulatrix/pseuds/Confabulatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>July 28th, 2016</i>
</p><p> </p><p>It was agreed in the investigative commission that the specific terminology used in the training manuals and academy courses would be <i>self-destruct sequence</i> and <i>reactor meltdown.</i></p><p>OR, That's Not How Reactor Meltdowns Go, Please Use Your Science</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nomenclature

**Author's Note:**

> no·men·cla·ture _noun._ : the devising or choosing of names for things, especially in a science or other discipline.

_"god save us everyone, we're a broken people living on a loaded gun"_

 

 

July 28th, 2016

 

Trespasser changed things. Before, "victory at all costs" was thought unacceptable. There were lines not to be crossed, not ever again; Trespasser, Hundun, Kaiceph and Scissure brought the nuclear option back to the table in an uncomfortable way, even after the first production run of Mark I's came off the assembly line.

It never reached broad public awareness, but thousands of scientists and engineers and all the Mark I pilot candidates knew the disquieting truth: at the heart of each and every nuclear-powered Jaeger was a bomb waiting to go off.

 

 

The Jaegers were a marvel of international cooperation, each one a walking tower of Swedish engines, German programming, Japanese robotics, and American neuroscience, with a French-designed fast breeder reactor wrapped around a Russian thermonuclear trigger. And that was the problem, wasn't it, Stacker asked himself. He was thirty years old, a decorated veteran of the RAF, Christ's sake the Air Commodore at Leuchar's had bought him a pint on his birthday, and two months ago he'd had to keep coms live back to LOCCENT for the worst three hours of his life so Secretary-General Krieger didn't push the button to remote detonate him, Tam, and every surviving soul left in Tokyo.

"They are rangers, ladies and gentlemen," Krieger said from the screen set up at the head of the oval conference table. "They understand the risks."

"All respect, sir," Dr. Rosza interjected, "they are civilians who have been handed the keys to a mobile twenty-five story, however-many-megatons nuclear bomb. I'm not sure you understand the inherent psychological ramifications." Dr. Natalia Rosza was a clinical psychologist assigned to the PPDC from the UN Ethics Committee, and she was rapidly becoming one of Stacker's favorite people. If the promotion rumors he'd heard bandied about the Security Council in the last few weeks turned out to be more than that, he definitely wanted her on his team.

And Mako liked her. Mustn't forget that. Stacker nodded his respect at her across the table as Krieger bid her to continue.

"I invite you to refer to the document titled 'Combat Pilot Stress Responses' on your tablets, please," Dr. Rosza began.

Around the table, the attendants of the commission picked up their ruggedized PPDC-issued tablets. Lightcap and D'onofrio were there, along with the Doctors Gottlieb, Corey Cavanaugh and Iain Durant from Delta Century, a few of the former H-3 engineers he recognized but didn't know firsthand, and a scattering of scientists from the EU Energy Commission and the American NRC.

It was a very pretty document, Stacker had to give her that. There was an aesthetic balance between the charts, graphs, tables and text, which did all the more to highlight just how much of a problem the Jaeger Program had on its hands.

To a single human on the ground, the kaiju were overwhelming, insurmountable, undefeatable. There was a reason the global average for suicides spiked after K-Day. Alone, a person was powerless against them, and nothing made a someone so afraid as taking away all ability to defend oneself. The Jaegers meant more than any other weapon humans had yet devised, because they were a humanized weapon, operated by humans in partnership, designed for the specific purpose to defend and protect humanity.

To pilot a Jaeger was to take back control, to wrap oneself in a big enough armor to be able to stand up and face the monsters and punch them repeatedly in their monstrous faces. He and Tam had very much enjoyed that part, and honestly, who'da thought it'd be two rough kids out of Tottenham standing up in a Jaeger hitting back for more'n their own names? It was really something, to pilot a Jaeger.

And it was just sound tactics, loading them up with tactical nukes just in case the fight turned, but try telling the pilots they were just the legs that walked the bomb in close enough to guarantee a direct hit.

"Studies have shown time and time again that unreasonable combat stresses result in—"

At the bottom left corner of Stacker's tablet screen, a new message notification popped up. He frowned, nodded at what seemed like an appropriate moment in Dr. Rosza's presentation, and tapped on the dialogue box with his stylus. He hadn't thought he'd had a messaging program installed, but to be fair the tablets weren't the bit of PPDC-provided tech Stacker had been most interested in.

_Incoming Private Relay from H. Gottlieb. Accept/Deny?_

Stacker glanced down the table in the direction of the Gottliebs. He wasn't much acquainted with them, for all the substantial contributions they'd both made to the program, and to date he hadn't been inclined to change the status quo. He had nothing against Germans, generally, but whomever the Gottliebs had hired to tutor their children in English had imparted an RP accent so aggressively uppity Stacker couldn't help but grind his molars a little.

At the moment, Lars Gottlieb, the elder, looked nothing so much as bored by the proceedings, and he none-too-subtly rolled his eyes when D'onofrio asked Dr. Rosza to expand on one of her points. Hermann, the son, seemed to be at least making an attempt toward polite disinterest, if the occasional sullen glance toward the Secretary-General was an indicator. Stacker tapped _Accept_ , and the dialogue box doubled in size and pulled up a small keyboard onscreen.

_Do forgive my less-than-polished delivery method, Ranger Pentecost. It was the simplest secured thing I could put together given the circumstances._

Put together? Stacker supposed he should expect as much of the boy genius who wrote the firmware for Coyote Tango and every other Jaeger. _Forgiven. What can I do for you Dr Gottlieb_ , Stacker tapped out in response.

_I would like to express my apologies. I heard about what almost happened in Tokyo._

That was interesting. So far as he was aware, only Tam, Krieger and the very tight-lipped LOCCENT Hong Kong were fully aware of how close they'd all come to losing the city; anyone else would express condolences and well-wishes for Tam's health, or follow up with a probing statement.

_Almost?_

_Doctor Lightcap asked me to look over the operating system a few days after Onibaba, to see if there were any programming errors that might have resulted in your copilot's incapacitation. My condolences, incidentally, I hope she recovers in due course._

_You may be assured you yourself are in no danger of expiring via rogue decimal point, Ranger._ _I can make no guarantees about the poorly-calculated tensile strength of Coyote Tango's radiation shielding under combat conditions, but I digress._ Stacker threw a sharp look down the table and made the mistake of catching Lars Gottlieb's eyes instead. Shit, shit, shit. He let his eyes unfocus, the ever-stalwart defense of a flyboy who was merely lost in thought, not glaring creative death at a superior officer. Dr. Gottlieb looked away, and Stacker looked back down at his tablet, where Hermann's message continued doggedly on.

_My analytics revealed that Coyote Tango's TNW was remotely armed via satellite shortly after the drift collapsed. You were very brave to continue to fight on as you did, Ranger Pentecost._

_I didn't really have a choice, Doctor._

_Even so. The odds were staggeringly against you. In respect of your admirable fortitude, I had thought to tell you there's to be a significant firmware patch sent out this week and a line-by-line debug. It may affect the overlaying architecture and delay Jaeger deployment on first post-update scramble. I understand Coyote Tango is down for repairs, but you may wish to inform other crews._

_Why are you telling me? Why not just pass it along to J-Tech in the, what do you call them, release notes?_

Dr. Rosza set down her tablet with startling force. "We're giving these rangers the illusion of control, Secretary-General, and they know it." Frustration hardened her accent; those attending the commission straightened in their seats a little at her shortened syllables. On the screen, Krieger blinked, and his forehead creased in unease.

"We're conditioning them to think of losing as an acceptable outcome. If they win, hurrah, well done, let's have applause and parades. If they lose, they still win because humanity still wins. The pilots don't even have to be conscious to be assured of victory," she paused, and tilted her head so slightly in Stacker's direction, "because someone in New York or Geneva can still push a button. At best possible outcome we're training our rangers to be voluntary hostages."

Hermann Gottlieb shifted and flicked his stylus against the edge of his tablet in visible agitation. His father reached over and took it from him. A second later another message popped up on Stacker's screen: _As has now been noted by others, the Mark I Jaegers have a major security flaw: _apparently_ their onboard tactical nuclear devices can be remotely activated. I'm taking the liberty of patching the vulnerability. I have also finalized and submitted the programming for the Mark II's, and pilot overrides for any and _all_ external commands are hard-coded in._

_I abhor bullies, be they human or otherwise._

You and me both, Stacker thought, and cleared his throat. "Obviously I don't speak for everyone in the program, but—" Stacker began.

"Your second engagement," Dr. Rosza interrupted. "Against the kaiju Golem." Her fingers flew over her tablet. "In the classified mission report you yourself admitted that you 'hesitated when the kaiju focused its attack on the reactor mount.' You pulled your punches, Ranger," she said flatly.

That was... fair. Painful to hear in front of a committee, most certainly, but fair. They'd won, but Tam hadn't been happy with that fight.

God, Stacker wished she was sitting here with him right now.

"With the sole exception of Cherno Alpha, I'm seeing the same report again and again that our Jaeger teams are flinching," Dr. Rosza said. In unison, Durant and Cavanaugh nodded, with twinned expressions of resignation. They'd been deployed to hold the Miracle Mile in Tokyo, and though there had been more than enough time for them to get back onshore to back him up, they hadn't. Not that Stacker was bitter about that.

Dr. Rosza continued. "We've been lucky, so far, but sooner or later we're going to lose one, and I promise you the collateral damage will make the kaiju look like a lesser problem.

"That's not the worst of it, ladies and gentlemen. The oldest person in the program is only thirty-five, and while Hercules Hansen is a fine soldier and an excellent ranger I believe we all know that he's never going to think of a nuclear weapon as a viable option. Ranger Pentecost here would likely also prefer any other alternative first, but they are exceptions.

"Counting the incoming class at Kodiak Island, the average age of our rangers is twenty-four, ninety percent of them come from non-military backgrounds, and we're intentionally not training them to consider the final costs. Dr. Lightcap can tell you more, but according to the initial psychological surveys, pilot candidates would have a more difficult time connecting to their Jaegers if they were made to understand the human cost of self-detonating in a populated area. If they were afraid of their own destructive potential, they would take fewer acceptable risks, they would _pull their punches_."

"It's a little more complex than that," Dr. Lightcap said, "but accurate. Fear responses impair the drift and slow down reaction times with the Pons. We haven't seen it yet, but it's been projected that an anxiety attack during a live deployment will occur sooner than later, and the fallout could be very literal."

A long deliberate silence settled in. At last, Krieger said, "What do you propose?"

Dr. Rosza cracked a wry smile and lifted her her shoulders into a half-shrug. "The current class at the Academy is only just beginning simulator exercises. I propose we simply don't tell them about the bomb."

Lars Gottlieb choked on air. Sergio D'onofrio snorted. Krieger started an "I beg your p—" and was interrupted when Durant exclaimed, "Jaysus bloody knickering what? You're taking the piss or summat, aren't you on the bleeding Ethics Committee?"

It was unprofessional to laugh, but the small part of Stacker that was now and would always be Tamsin Sevier, and the larger part of Stacker that remembered going out and getting very royally drunk with the Delta Century lads, the sum of these parts being one-hundred percent plus or minus a five percent margin for error, well, _hell_. He didn't laugh, but it was a near thing as he hid his smile in the back of his hand and cleared his throat.

Dr. Rosza waited serenely for the various outbursts to run their courses before she spoke again. "I might observe, being an educated person and not a comedian," and that absolutely shut up the last of the snickering, "that there is nothing unethical in withholding this particular piece of terminology."

"You are suggesting we lie to the individuals who will be operating the multistory death-machines," Lars Gottlieb said, loudly and patiently as if he were scolding a small child, or a collegiate undergrad. "Of course. I cannot imagine how that might go wrong when they inevitably begin pushing buttons in simulations."

Equally patiently, Dr. Rosza replied, "I believe we should not tell them about the bomb, or at least call them as such. That does not mean that we should not stress the utter importance of not self-detonating unless it is the absolute final option. It must be addressed in the Academy training that the Jaegers pose danger to surrounding civilian populations just by virtue of being nuclear-powered. This is not unreasonable."

"So," D'onofrio drawled, "we're still telling them they're driving a Jaeger bomb, we're just not calling them bombs, like the opposite of how they have it in the movies."

Hermann made a noise of derision, and he seemed slightly surprised when more than one pair of eyes focused on him. "I assume," he said, "you refer to the movies wherein a reactor meltdown is used as a last minute weapon and a waste of special effects budget." His mouth quirked at the corner and he lifted his brows in the facial equivalent of a shrug. "One can find worse sources of alternative nomenclature."

Further discussion ensued, but it was agreed that the specific terminology used in the training manuals and academy courses going forward would be _self-destruct sequence_ and _reactor meltdown._

Sergio D'onofrio was a lifesaver and a national treasure; Stacker was thinking about claiming him for Britain. With ease and charm he'd talked down the rest of the sputtering about the science and the ethics of it all. "We're Jaeger pilots, not rocket scientists," he'd said, sharing a grin and a brush of arms with Lightcap like there was some sort of private joke. "We don't need all the explanations, just tell the rookies to lay off the big boom and they'll try to bring their rides back without too many scratches in the paint, okay?"

And just like that the meeting was over. Stacker turned his cell back on and stood up to stretch. He'd survived longer meetings, but neither his chair nor the table were really designed with the average Jaeger pilot in mind and previous meetings had all been before the Tokyo run. The scars from his circuitry suit, burned in where they'd tried to wring out every drop of feedback, were still tender, and that was aside from the overwhelming itching.

"Ranger Pentecost," Dr. Rosza called over the table, "would you mind waiting a moment?"

He nodded. "Of course, Doctor." As if he wouldn't take his time in leaving anyway. Unlike the engineers, who were out the door nearly the second the meeting was over, he didn't have somewhere particularly pressing to be, and that bothered him more than he wanted to let on.

The Gottliebs were slow to depart, Lars taking his time gathering papers that hadn't been needed, and Hermann shaky and slow to rise from his chair a second time after a failed first attempt. Stacker made a note to send a message inquiring after his health, for good manners' sake. Durant and Cavanaugh passed him on the way out with nods and no words, which was a smart move on their part.

Dr. Rosza snapped shut the clasps on her attaché and rounded the table with a smile. "Stacker."

"Natalia."

"I didn't have the chance to ask you earlier. How has Mako been this week?"

Stacker exhaled heavily. How had Mako been. She still woke up screaming every night. In daylight hours, she'd sometimes cry from frustration when an English word didn't come to her fast enough. She'd had two panic attacks. "Yesterday, she told me she wants to be a Jaeger pilot when she grows up," he answered.

"Hmm. And that bothers you."

More than she could possibly know. Stacker wondered if that was why she hadn't phrased it as a question and decided immediately that had to be it. Hell, they'd just had a whole commission on the topic, and he couldn't decide whether to feel sick or proud when she told him she would grow up to fight in a Jaeger like him.

"She's so, so bright," Stacker said. "Almost hurts my eyes to look at her."

"So you are not having any problems with attachment?"

"Not yet." They had discussed it a month ago, when the ink was still drying on the papers and Stacker was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that he'd adopted a child and that meant he was now someone's parent. Then, they hadn't known what to call each other. Now, Mako called him _Sensei_ , and his heart twisted a little in his chest every time.

He didn't want to imagine a future that would see Mako in a Jaeger, didn't want to think about how long this war would have to go on, didn't want to think about letting her into a nuclear Jaeger that would almost certainly kill her by degrees, didn't want to—

"And how are you, Stacker?" Natalia asked, and it was Natalia right now, not Dr. Rosza doing the asking. "I have not seen you in my office for anything but Mako's appointments in a while."

Well. He woke up every morning with a sore throat and a mouth that tasted like copper, he had a headache that never quite went away, and his last brain scan had come back Inconclusive. His copilot had brain cancer, he was taking a ridiculous amount of Metharocin for radiation sickness, and he'd just adopted a little girl he somehow already loved more than anything.

"Natalia, I am a mess, but I'm doing better," Stacker answered.

"If you need to talk about anything, you know..."

"Yes, I know, I can—"

And then his phone went off.

_"OHHHHHHHHH NO, THEY SAY HE'S GOT TO GO, GO GO GODZILLA!"_

"Oh, I am so sorry, I've got to take this," Stacker said, fumbling for his phone.

"Yes, of course, but don't forget Mako's appointment—"

_"OHHHHHHHHH NO, THERE GOES TOKYO, GO GO GODZILLA!"_

_Monday_ , Natalia mouthed.

A half-dozen appalled glares leveled in Stacker's direction, and he couldn't unlock his smart phone fast enough to answer it. "Yes, Monday, I am so, _so_ sorry," he apologized before ducking out the door to the vintage soundtrack of wailing electric guitars. God he missed flip-phones, with actual buttons, Jesus.

"Tam-SIN," he roared into his phone at last, "what the _hell_ is wrong with you? I was in an important meeting, when did you even—"

She cackled unrepentantly on the other end as he ranted about her incredibly poor taste, her voice tinny and fragile and everything he'd needed to hear in the last few hours combined. "Coulda been months, coulda been weeks, I'm not tellin'."

"I locked my phone!"

"Like your passwords aren't stupid easy to crack, I've been in your head so many times. Makes you wonder what else I've got up to, though, doesn't it?"

The possibilities were staggering, and horrifying. "What did you do?"

She laughed again. "Aww, ain't nuffin' bad."

It was funny, how she knew just when to drop the good 'n proper accent the RAF demanded out of them and sound the most like home. "Jesus, Tam, you giant troll, I have missed you."

"'Course you have, I'm the only thing gives your sad poncy life any color."

"Fuck you, Tam," he said, but he was laughing as he said it. "My life is plenty colorful, I wear purple shirts with purple ties, I am GQ as hell."

A pair of suits from the meeting frowned at him as they exited the conference room. Stacker straightened and glared back, angling his body to better display his chest candy. Fuck 'em, he was the only reason Tokyo wasn't a crater, he was bloody allowed to have a bloody phone call where he bloody wanted.

"You're hilarious, Stacks. While there's no discussion you look good in that purple shirt because you're a glorious black man who can wear color and your glory-be-to-God-and-England shoulders demand a good line, let's remember that one: I bought you that shirt, and two: you tuck that fuckin' magnificent shirt into the pants of your dress blues. With a belt!"

"Sometimes they're jeans," he retorted, but she laughed at him again.

"Dad jeans, I bet they're dad jeans, aren't they. I checked your email, and spoiler alert: Club Hot Dads threw out your application, and Herc Hansen is very disappointed in you. Britain is disappointed in you, the King is writin' a strongly-worded letter, and I'm sure God is gonna have somethin' to say at you too."

"Well when you get to God you can send me a postcard summary," he said, and immediately winced. "Tam, I mean..."

"S'okay, Stacks, s'what it's lookin' like anyway."

He felt ill all of a sudden, in a way that had nothing to do with the triple-dose of Metharocin. _Take two in the morning with food_ , except they made him too nauseous to eat, but trying to down them without food was worse. He thought for a moment the protein shake he'd had for lunch might come back up.

"Shit, Tam," he breathed. "That's just the absolute tits, isn't it?"

"The titsiest."

"Titsy McTits."

"Holly Willoughby-grade tits, so titsy is this tit of a tit festival." She paused. "Bridge too far, yeah?"

"Yeah, I think it only works as an exclamation when the tits in question are purely hypothetical and applied with a positive connotation."

Tamsin whistled, though it came across crackly and airy over the connection. "Watch it there, Stacks. I know you've a kid now and you need to be a positive example, but your education's showing a bit much." She sounded horrified and wry at the same time.

"Good lord, soon I shall have to begin pausing at appropriate intervals to indicate the presence of Oxford commas."

"Slow your roll, Ranger Pentecost, people are going to start to have to take you seriously. They'll say I was a terrible influence. They will doubt your swagger and blame all Coyote's dancing on moi." Stacker could just picture her saying it, the way she all but smacked her lips together on the last word and threw her head back for the 'MWAH.'

"Fuck, Tam, do I ever miss you."

"I know," she said matter-of-factly. "S'why you put in a request for leave and you're using it to come visit me."

"I'm _what_?"

"Yeah, so, remember how all your passwords are the same damn thing and I know them? Totally filed a leave request under your credentials. Then I booked a flight for the fourth for two with your credit card. Your leave starts on the third and runs through the seventeenth, bring a boogie board and your kid. You're damn welcome."

"I don't know whether to be impressed or... That's really bloody illegal, and you didn't get caught?"

"Nup."

"Jesus Christ."

"'Zactly." Another voice mumbled in the background on her end, and Tam sighed. "Look, Stacks, drift-husband, light of my life and heart, I've got to cut this off. Check your email, you should've seen this days ago if you bothered with it more, I've got to go have poisons and radiation shot into me now. See you in a week, ta!"

The call cut off at once, and Stacker shook his head with a bewildered grin. "Tamsin Sevier, how you do try me," he muttered to himself.

His phone buzzed in his hand a moment before noise blared from it again. _"WE'RE UP ALL NIGHT TIL THE SUN, WE'RE UP ALL NIGHT TO GET SOME, WE'RE UP ALL NIGHT FOR GOOD FUN, WE'RE UP ALL NIGHT TO GET LUCKY."_

The screen read _LUCKY SEVEN--HERC HANSEN._

He was still laughing when he answered.

**Author's Note:**

> Much like a particular favorite lovestruck pilot, I never did have very good timing. Had I seen PR when it came out and not been soooo late to this party, I wouldn't have declared my fandom divorce and not been so desperately out of practice when I started writing again. This is my first fic in... a while. And it wrote like pulling teeth, if in the process of pulling teeth one happened to find deeper teeth under the exposed roots and you know what this metaphor got gross real fast.
> 
> Mostly this is the product of seeing the movie by myself the first time, and making high-pitched noises through my sinuses for most of the film, interspersed with exclamations of, "BUT THAT IS NOT HOW YOU SCIENCE," or, "BUT. ARE THEY REALLY. OF COURSE."
> 
> Mea culpa on any errors of character and/or dialogue. I read everything and have an academic background in research, but I am an American running with no beta, so mistakes have and will be made by me. I treat only the film as canon absolute, and cherry-pick from supplementary materials. (I won't apologize for pop culture references. These characters and I, we are of an age, and my generation, I KNOW IT.)
> 
> UTA: References!  
> For further information about references with regards to the nuclear science and psychology in this fic, please examine the following: 
> 
> On radiation and reactor shielding - http://pacificrimscience.tumblr.com/post/62199147061/do-you-know-anything-about-radiation-radiochemistry-i  
> On reactor-type and the nonsense that is starting a 'meltdown' - http://abalidoth.tumblr.com/post/57635924974/kogiopsis-abalidoth-replied-to-your-post-having and http://pacificrimscience.tumblr.com/post/57674819751/rebel-army-of-the-discrete-kogiopsis-abalidoth  
> On the psychology and PTSD -http://thelastpsychiatrist.com/2010/10/the_military_and_ptsd_a_star_w.html 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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